The Greengrass Brother
by VentingNonsense
Summary: The Greengrass family generally refrains from talking about their estranged Squib family member. Then the Ministry had the gall to intervene at Hogwarts. So they sent him to teach there, as well. After all, what further damage could one Squib do? Except he's not a Squib, not exactly...
1. The Play's the Thing

**Author's Note and Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is owned by JK Rowling. The Greengrass family is a canonical family (and canonically part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight), and Daphne _is_ in Slytherin canonically (and Astoria _is_ married to Draco, in the epilogue), but everything else is my brainchild, mixed with the brainchildren of the Harry Potter fandom. And when brainchildren mix together we get _babies._

Incidentally, I have no idea what I'm doing.

* * *

**Chapter One: The Play's the Thing**

The Greengrass family would be what you could call a normal Pureblood magical family. They followed the important circles, could trace their lineage back for generations like any self-respecting Pureblood (and were traditionally considered part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight families), and followed all the traditional rotes and rituals that all Pureblood families were expected to follow. Despite all of the above being what would be considered Death Eater material, the Greengrass family were staunchly neutral in their outlook, neither supporting nor antagonizing the Death Eaters, and likewise doing the same towards the Order of the Phoenix.

In fact, they didn't particularly care one way or another about the news that the Ministry was to supplant the Hogwarts education, overriding the Headmaster's decisions. Traditionally, all Greengrass children were Sorted into Slytherin, the House with the least fondness for the Headmaster, so the Ministry's decree didn't affect them in the slightest.

And then they received word that _Dolores Umbridge_, of all people, was to be the new Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"That - accursed - _wretch_!" Roxanne Greengrass fumed as her husband, Cyrus, tried desperately to calm her down. "How could _anyone_ think that this is a good idea?!"

"Now, now, dear, I'm sure that it isn't as bad as it appears."

"_Not that bad?!_ You've never met her before, have you?! She is, at once, the most unpleasant and utterly incompetent witch I have ever had the displeasure of meeting! And you're telling me that she was hired to teach our _children?!_" Roxanne points at Cyrus accusingly, as if it's his fault that she is angry. "Even a _Squib_ would be a better professor than her!"

Suddenly, both of them fall silent. Then, "Huh." Cyrus strokes his beard, looking wistful. "There's an idea."

* * *

Henry Greengrass knew, once he woke up, that this day would be different. After years of his family ignoring him, he suddenly found an owl perched on his roof, bearing the Greengrass crest, and a note in its talons.

Reading the note, he scratched his scalp, trying to figure out what this meant. Fifteen years ago, his father ensured that he lived away from the family due to the rise of the Dark Lord. Although over the years he had popped by the Greengrass Manor, frequently at first, he hadn't done so since his education landed him in Japan five years ago; even before that, he dreaded those visits, as he was forced to accept them and had no real love for the manor he grew up in. In fact, once he accepted his new placement, he was nothing less than delighted, and was finally immensely satisfied with his place in life. And now his father wanted him to go _back?_

_Well,_ Henry mused, _there must be a reason for it._ Henry never knew his father to do things without a good reason. Packing up his things, he idly wondered how he would keep his house.

Henry frowned. The house wasn't cheap, and even with student loans it was difficult for him to afford it. _Maybe I should just sell it, after all._ Or maybe his partner could spot some of the funds up front. He'd have to ask.

Making a note to his house-mate, Henry grabbed a packet of Floo powder and headed to their fireplace. Igniting it, Henry hoped that the Floo powder didn't outright break the electronic igniter. _Well, I'm sure I can Floo home regardless._ The fireplace roared to life, and he tossed Floo powder into the fire, turning cascading orange into furious green.

"Greengrass Garden," Henry intoned purposefully, and stepped through.

* * *

The Floo roared to life, and Henry stepped out into the manor. _Hasn't really changed much in three years._

The Greengrass manor hadn't physically changed in five years, except perhaps being noticeably dimmer.

Henry made his way to the dining room, where he was greeted by his parents.

"Artemis," his father coolly greeted him. Henry narrowed his eyes.

"I thought I told you _never to call me that_," Henry hissed out. "My name is _Henry_, you miserable old man."

To his surprise, both of his parents refrained from reacting with more than a nod. "Apologies," his mother said, not sincere but also not sarcastic. Henry blinked.

"Really? No smart remarks about magic? No subtle comments about me disgracing the family name? Nothing about my chosen name?" Henry blinked again as his questions failed to garner a reaction. "Huh. Must be important. Okay, what's up?" Henry grabbed a chair and plopped down ungracefully, placing his feet on the table, and was mildly gratified to notice a displeased frown appear on his father's stoic face.

* * *

"You want me to _what_?" Henry asked disbelievingly for the fifth time.

"You will be a professor at Hogwarts in the upcoming term," replied his father.

"...why?" Henry asked, honestly stumped.

"Because the alternative is that horrid wretch," replied his mother, a bit irritated.

"She teaches _Defense_," Henry noted. "That's _kind of_ magically important."

"I don't trust that woman with my children," his mother said in response.

"Well, it's not like I can just _take over_ the Defense post," Henry said, ignoring the remark. "I don't know a damn thing about that subject other than it's more physical than people tend to expect. Besides, nobody would trust me to teach their kids anything 'magical'," he finishes with a grimace.

"Dolores doesn't know anything about it, either," his mother replied. "I know that for a fact. In fact, she barely passed that class with an E."

"And the Minister appointed _her?_ The hell is going on here?" Henry asked after a moment's pause. "Wait, an E is good, right?" he ended with a mumble.

"This has to do with the Headmaster more than anything educational," his father replied, choosing to ignore the mumbled comment. "The Minister seems to be operating under the delusion that Headmaster Dumbledore is amassing an army dedicated to overthrowing his rule."

Henry scoffed. "Is he for real? The Minister has full-blown _Aurors._ The Headmaster's only 'army' would be all school-children. Not exactly Auror-fighting material, there."

"You know that, _I_ know that," responded his father, "your mother knows that, and even the Headmaster himself knows that, but the Minister doesn't. I can guarantee this issue will be discussed in the Wizengamot."

"I have no idea what that is," Henry noted. "Well, if it comes up in discussion, point out that if he's so scared of that result then he should increase Auror funding and appoint reliable bodyguards, instead of...doing whatever it is he hopes to achieve with this result."

"Changing the subject," his father interjected, to Henry's exasperation, "how have your studies gone?"

"Reasonably well," Henry said, leaning back in his chair. "My studies have uncovered new evidence that I'm more than willing to apply to products. Plus, my partner and I have finished our thesis work."

"That's great!"

"We're planning on releasing new items - oh, hello, Daphne," he waved merrily at his sister walking into the kitchen. She responded with little more than a nod. "Wow, you've turned her stoic. Nice work." His father nodded minutely, not realizing the joke. Henry rolled his eyes. "Anyway, we're planning on releasing a new product into the Japanese wizarding market. It's tough to work with, but I'm doing my best."

"You're doing your best; that's all that matters," his mother said. "Would you be able to attend to your business while being at Hogwarts?"

"Wait, what?" Daphne asked.

"I'm still thinking about if I even want to become a Professor. I mean, I'd have to talk to the Headmaster, and I don't even know if I can get to the castle," Henry said.

"You definitely can; there is already a Squib in their employ, one Argus Filch," his mother replied.

"Wait, _what?_" Daphne asked again.

"The way I see it, nobody would question your involvement, since the Ministry honestly doesn't care about you and the Headmaster will undoubtedly be impressed with how you've managed to make a name for yourself," his father noted.

"Is there a spot for 'Runes' classes, d'you think?" Henry inquired, hand to his chin. "Not 'Ancient Runes', that's more of a language course than anything, I'm thinking 'Applied Runes' would be like something in my line of work."

_"Wait, what?"_ Daphne asked a third time.

"Oh, you didn't hear? There's a person at the Ministry who is apparently not a good teacher so Mum and Dad are trying to get me to take her spot. I'm not going to but I'd be more than willing to be a professor of something else."

"You really should take the Defense class, Art-_Henry_," his father stressed. "But, if you feel that strongly against it, then I will have to talk to Dumbledore and we will get something worked out."

"I _don't_ feel strongly about it. I just...don't particularly care one way or the other about it." Henry shrugged. Then he grinned. "That's the Greengrass way, after all."

The corners of his father's mouth tugged up near-imperceptibly. "Indeed." He leaned forward on his chair, hands covering his mouth. "As expected from my heir."

Henry's grin dropped abruptly and his face became stoic, his pose shifting to be slightly more polite. "I'm still...?"

"Of course." His father was definitely smiling now, even if it was a small smile. "You're the only person I'd trust with the family name. No offense, dear," he finished with a glance at his wife.

"None taken." Roxanne shrugged the offense off. "I agree with your assessment, after all."

"But not...?" Henry waved in Daphne's general direction. "Wouldn't you want a witch to be the heir? Or, 'heiress'?"

Daphne waved dismissively. "When I am to get married, my contract states that I will be forced to lose the name. Better a Squib than it falling into oblivion."

Henry stared at her. "There is so much wrong with that that I don't even know where to begin."

His mother sighed. "We had no choice; it was either take the contract or lose all of the prestige the Greengrass name still holds. Astoria, at least, has the ability to keep the Greengrass name. And, of course, there's you."

Henry's gaze shifted from his sister to his mother. "There is _always_ a choice." Henry's eyebrow quirked up. "Plus, Astoria? She's still a hopeless romantic, isn't she?"

"She's still young; she'll grow out of it," her mother waved dismissively, to which Henry scoffs.

"With an attitude like that, it's a wonder that Astoria didn't already just ditch the family and run off with some guy."

Everybody around Henry grimaced, and his father spoke up. "She's contracted to one Draco Malfoy, who she apparently already has a crush on, and the contract explicitly states that the second-born will be a Greengrass."

Henry stared at his father, and then burst out laughing. "Wow, you've really messed up big-time, dad!" Through his laughter, Henry managed to ask, "You know the Malfoys traditionally only have _one child,_ right?"

Cyrus stared at his son for all of three seconds before hitting himself in the face.

"And here I was convinced that you never did things without a good reason." Henry chuckled and got up from his seat. "Where is Tori, anyway? I haven't seen her in so long."

"I'm right here," replied Astoria, walking into the kitchen where everyone else is. "What are you talking about?"

"Your betrothal contract," Henry said. "And how the contract pretty much ruins our family."

"Oh." Astoria wrinkled her nose. "I don't like thinking about it."

Henry laughs. "Good! You're thirteen, you're too young to think about it anyway."

"Well, when _am_ I supposed to think about it?" Astoria pressed. "Just because I don't _like_ thinking about it doesn't mean I _don't._"

Henry grinned wider, but didn't comment on her statement. "Missed you, Tori."

Astoria walked over to Henry and hugged him. "Missed you too, big bro."

"Are you going to accept the job?" his father asked, after Astoria released the embrace.

"Yeah, sure, whatever." Henry waved dismissively. "Just make sure that you ask about an Applied Runes course before Defense." Henry turned around to leave.

"Of course, my son. We will see you soon," his father said.

"But not _too_ soon, I'd hope," replied Henry, before disappearing in flames.

* * *

_I can't believe I'm doing this,_ Henry thought, not for the first time, as he straightened out his collar. _Teaching at Hogwarts. Me._ Henry had already planned his departure from Japan, with his house-mate fully informed of the changes. He grabbed his bags and headed towards the front of his house, where his father waited for him.

"My son," Cyrus Greengrass intoned.

"Father," Henry replied in kind, nodding at him.

His father stuck out his arm, and Henry took hold of it, before they Apparated to somewhere on American soil, and then to right outside of Hogwarts, by the gamekeeper's cabin.

The male Greengrass duo strode towards the Headmaster's office, the older of the two walking quickly and purposefully, the younger walking lazily but easily keeping in stride. Henry's fears of not being able to see Hogwarts were unfounded; the castle was still visible to him, in all its magical glory. Henry suspected his father cast some sort of charm on him at some point without him knowing, but, as he was obviously otherwise unharmed, he let it go.

After a while, Cyrus and Henry stopped in front of a gargoyle statue. They paused for a moment, Cyrus taking his time to unravel a piece of parchment from his pocket, before stating clearly, "Cockroach Clusters." Henry quirked his eyebrow in clear amusement, and Cyrus shrugged minutely.

"Albus Dumbledore is very fond of sweets," he replied to Henry's obvious question. Henry let out an, "Ah," of understanding. The passageway opened and the two Greengrass men walked into the Headmaster's office. In the office was, of course, the Headmaster, as well as a middle-aged woman with long, brown hair.

"Ah, hello, Lord Greengrass!" Dumbledore said in his usual manner. "And who is this young man?"

"By God," Henry gaped openly. "I could lose _so much_ in that beard."

Both Cyrus and Albus looked at him. Henry sheepishly replied, "I just said that out loud, didn't I?"

"Yes, quite." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled somehow as he said this. Henry decided not to look at his eyes and instead chose to stare at that _massive white beard._

"I take it you've received word of my suggestion?" Cyrus asked Dumbledore, who nodded. "This is him. Art-_Henry_, this is Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, and Professor Bathsheda Babbling."

"Nice to meet you," replied Henry, as serious as he could respond while staring at the beard. Dumbledore noticed this and chuckled.

"Yes, it is quite impressive. I'm rather proud of it, you know." Cyrus elbowed his son as Dumbledore continued. "I hear you have a proposal for a course?"

"Huh?" Henry got elbowed again. "Oh, right. My suggestion is to replace Ancient Runes, which is ultimately useless, with Applied Runes. Or, at the very least, supplant Ancient Runes with Applied Runes. There's more to Runes than the language and a lot of it is applicable around the world."

"Something you fail to understand, child, is that the study of ancient runes is a valued course to wizarding culture." Professor Babbling replied, sneering. Henry would be offended, but as his goal was to take over her class, he figured it wouldn't be a stretch to assume that she disliked him.

"I honestly don't care at all about that," Henry replied blithely, ignoring the Professor's outraged gasp and his father's disapproving frown. "You really can't do anything with the ancient runic scripts your class teaches, except _maybe_ reading ancient documents and designing ritual equipment, which are both frowned upon in wizarding Britain, anyway. And _nobody_ reads in Elder Futhark, ever. Besides, there are more modern approaches that do much of the same thing without a lot of the hassle."

"_Excuse me?!_" Professor Babbling obviously didn't take this well at all, judging from her rapidly-reddening face and the veins bulging on her forehead. "I'll have you know that this course has important roots in history! Even Rowena Ravenclaw _herself_ approved of this course, and many historic figures have taken this course and succeeded in their lives!"

"No thanks to this course, obviously," Henry snarked.

As their conversation went back and forth, Henry's father stared at Dumbledore, who stared back.

"Lemon drop?" Dumbledore asked.

Cyrus thought about it for a moment, looked between his son and the professor, and then sighed. "Yes, please. I feel like I'll need it."

After watching the two bicker even more, Henry mentioned that "wow, you sure know a lot about history, why don't you just go teach that?" At that point, Dumbledore finally interrupted them.

"Yes, that _is_ a good idea."

Henry and Professor Babbling abruptly stopped and turned to the Headmaster, who had a twinkle in his eye.

"After all," Dumbledore said as he sucked on a lemon drop, "Professor Babbling, you certainly know a lot about historical figures. And Henry, your debate shows that you know more than most people on the subject of runic arrays in modern society.

How about a compromise? Henry - or should I say, _Professor Greengrass_ - can become the new teacher of Ancient Runes, of which I will change the course title next year, and Professor Babbling here can become the new History of Magic teacher. After all, I feel that Professor Binns has been in service for long enough," Dumbledore finished with that same twinkle in his eye.

Henry and Professor Babbling ended up flapping their mouths wordlessly. Cyrus took this moment to interject.

"If it changes anything, I feel that this is a good idea."

Professor Babbling sneered. "Of course _you'd_ say that," she said caustically. "And, with all due respect, Headmaster, but you're willing to allow this...this _whelp_ to teach the most important course in all of Hogwarts? He's just a boy!"

"As Henry has just proven," Dumbledore pointed out, "he _does_ know what he's talking about."

"If it makes you feel any better," Henry interjects, "I honestly think you'd be a fantastic History of Magic professor."

Professor Babbling scowled at Henry, but her face turned from angry to thoughtful.

"So, next year, then? Give Professor Binns a chance to say his last goodbyes and give all the Ancient Runes students a year's notice, before I become their new professor?" Henry asked. "It sounds good to me."

"Why not do that for this coming term?" Dumbledore retorted. "After all, you seem ready to go."

Henry blinked. "That doesn't give any of us much time to prepare..."

Dumbledore chuckled. "People have always called me barmy. Even my supporters have occasionally called me a bit mad. Doing something like this is very unorthodox, I'll admit, but with the Ministry's coming changes, I have the feeling that I'll be losing a lot of power over my decisions in the coming days. Besides," his eyes twinkled again, "life's no fun without a few surprises here and there."

Henry grinned. "You, I like. You are a credit to life itself."

Professor Babbling abruptly walked off, shaking her head.

"Somehow, I'm not surprised that you'd do something as ridiculous as this," is the Professor's last parting shot. Dumbledore chuckles.

"Welcome to the faculty, Professor Greengrass."

* * *

Henry set his bags onto his new bed. The Headmaster was kind enough to allow him to live in the castle, in a room that was at once both secluded and close enough to the kitchens and his new classroom that Henry wasn't irritated by its location at all. Kicking off his shoes, he laid down on his bed and felt the fluffy pillows on his face.

Suddenly, the ghostly Professor Binns flew into the room and locked eyes with Henry. "YOU! CURSE YOU, BOY! You've taken my job away from me!"

Henry barely had time to let out a muttered, "Eep," as he rolled away from the ghastly spectre, grabbing a glove in the meantime. Standing upright, Henry inched towards the door and barely had time to grab the handle before the ghost came and tried to headbutt him again, so he was forced to jump away.

"Well, crap," Henry winced as he touched a small gash on his forearm. Apparently, Professor Binns was a ghost who could touch corporeal bodies and _actually injure others._ Henry put on the glove and scribbled out a quick runic array in mid-air, which launched a fireball at the ghost, who was knocked back by it but was otherwise unharmed.

Henry used the time the knockback gave to scribble a tiny runic array in shorthand runes using the blood from the small gash, which caused the door to explode violently. Henry ran away from the ghost, who was hot on his heels.

Henry hugged the wall as he ran, crafting runes on the wall with his glove, which fired all sorts of magical blasts towards the ghost, who ducked and weaved through the blasts, and pulled out a ghastly wand, firing spells at him.

_Dammit, this year is going to suck_, Henry thought as he was forced to weave through his blasts. _If I can't stop_ this_, then how am I supposed to stop the more unruly kids?_

Suddenly, he heard footsteps in front of him. Then, a flash of light, and Professor Binns abruptly stopped moving.

"Professor Greengrass, _what is going on?!_" asked a somewhat disoriented Headmaster, as Henry caught his breath.

"That - right there - that's Professor - Professor Binns," Henry said, holding up his now-profusely-bleeding arm in between gasps. "Probably - probably could've done worse. Tried to - hold him off."

"Well, that's enough of that," interjected Dumbledore. With a whip of his wand, ex-Professor Binns disappeared in a flash of light.

"Oh, _thank goodness_," muttered Henry, as his legs gave out in front of Dumbledore, not noticing the other Professors around him. Dumbledore passed him a spot of dittany which he used to patch up the wound.

"Who is this?" asked one of the professors.

"That's Professor Greengrass, Dumbledore told me about him," answered another professor.

"What I don't understand is, why didn't he use any spells to get rid of him?" asked one of the other professors.

Henry blinked and then laughed. Neither his father nor the Headmaster mentioned anything about his status to the professors, apparently, so he grinned and got back up from the ground on wobbly legs.

"What, my father didn't tell you? I'm a Squib."

As Henry limped back to his room, grinning and ignoring the Professors' shocked faces, he couldn't help but think that maybe this year wouldn't be so bad, after all.


	2. Please (Don't) Take Applied Runes

**Chapter Two: Please (Don't) Take Applied Runes**

Henry first saw Dolores Umbridge ten years ago, at a formal party hosted at the Greengrass Manor. Henry knew back then that there was something suspicious about her, as his parents, mostly his mother, always looked a bit irritated when she came near them. He also remembered being distinctly wary of her whenever she looked at him with that patronizing gaze.

That wariness he felt before came back in full force when she stood up from her seat in the Great Hall to speak to the students.

Henry paid absolutely zero attention to her speech, quietly stood up from his spot on the table, and walked behind the Headmaster. Although the students noticed this, nobody on the staff table did.

Then he started grabbing candy from inside the Headmaster's beard.

Dumbledore stared warily at him before he realized what was going on, then he chuckled and grabbed some candy for himself.

"I, myself, am particularly fond of the Chocolate Frogs," whispered Dumbledore. Henry stared at the Frog in Dumbledore's hand in disbelief. Was it _croaking?_

"Personally I prefer the Pocky," Henry whispered back, waving a red box of the chocolate-covered sticks. "It reminds me of home."

"Ah, that's right, you came from Japan, did you not?" Dumbledore whispered. "It is a beautiful country."

"Bit weird, sometimes," muttered Henry, with a wink. "Or maybe that's just me. But yeah, I really love it there."

Because the students below started muttering and pointing at the two during their whispered discussion, the staff slowly turned to their esteemed Headmaster pulling candy out from inside his beard. Next to Henry, the Deputy Headmistress stared between the two with a twitch in her eye. Henry caught this and grabbed a handful of assorted-flavored drops from the beard, then stuck one in his mouth.

"Hey, Minerva, d'you want some?" he offered quietly, shaking his candy-filled fist in her general direction. She refused as politely as she could, under the circumstances. "How about you, Severus?" Said Professor sneered but remained silent, so Henry took this as agreement. He placed some on the table next to Professor Snape as he quietly walked back to his seat.

Henry actually didn't get to know his fellow co-workers all that well, but he was at least aware of them and knew their names, if only in passing. He figured it was mostly his fault, though, for not leaving his room until the Start-of-Term Feast. He did, however, take the liberty of calling them by their first names.

Throughout all this, Umbridge continued her speech, never once noticing the goings-on behind her.

"I think this has gone on long enough," announced Dumbledore once Umbridge appeared to stop, "but there is one more staff announcement to make. Please welcome the new professor for Applied Runes, Professor Henry Greengrass."

Polite clapping filled the Hall as Henry stood up to bow, but the majority of the people in the Hall groaned. Henry took a look at his sisters, who were rapidly trying to make themselves as scarce as possible in their seats, and ignored the urge to laugh at them. Instead, he grinned widely and mentally prepared his speech.

"Well, I know how to shut up, so unlike the person before me, I'll try to make this as fast as possible," Henry announced with a wink towards Umbridge, ignoring the rapid reddening of her face. Then he took a deep breath.

"The Study of Ancient Runes course is now the Applied Runes course and Professor Babbling is now the History of Magic teacher because Professor Binns tried to assault me the other day and it failed horribly and he's now exorcised but that's irrelevant to the fact that I'm your latest Runes teacher and Applied Runes is slightly different from the Ancient Runes course as the Ancient Runes course was a language study at best while Applied Runes has more applications in the real world and I'm also quite good at it although I've never actually taught it to schoolchildren but besides that I hope you all at least consider taking the course as I can assure you that it will be entirely worth it."

Henry stopped to take a few deep breaths. The students looked less irritated and more confused, which Henry took as a good sign.

"Also I'm a Squib and I hate you all," he finished with a grin and two thumbs up, then plopped down on his chair ungracefully and munched on a Pocky stick, ignoring all of the whispered comments erupting from the Hall. Dumbledore stared at him but Henry waved dismissively and so Dumbledore, after a few finishing comments, started the feast.

* * *

After taking a quick head check, Henry stood up from his desk and addressed his new class.

"Alright, hello, class, and welcome to the first ever class of Applied Runes in Hogwarts!" Henry watched all of his new class with a smile on his face. "Put your wands away and shut your gaping mouth-holes as I serenade your aural cavities all with information that will probably make your feeble little wizard-minds explode and almost certainly change your entire perception of magic."

"Why should we listen to _you?_ You're just a nasty little Squib," one Slytherin boy muttered, glaring at the Professor as if Henry was responsible for kicking his puppy or something. Henry thought it was rather adorable.

"And it is _exactly_ that attitude that makes me hate people like you!" Henry replied happily. "Thanks for volunteering for being the test subject for the week, I certainly appreciate it," he finished, winking at the boy.

"Now then," he continued, ignoring the boy's outraged reaction. "For those of you who don't know, I lived in Japan for five years, studying Oriental runic arrays and learning more about utilizing runes in a magical environment. I can tell you right now that Applied Runes are very important if any of you are interested in a job that takes you international; a lot of countries have very well-established 'rune societies', for lack of a better term, like the Russian Federation, the Nordic countries and, of course, Japan. These are people who spend their lives around runes, learning to shape and change their environment using only the ambient magic around them. I'm one of these people by association; my teacher while in Japan was a member of a prominent rune society and a master of using the environment, _any_ environment, to his advantage. It didn't hurt that he was also a wizard, the advantage of which I'll get to in a moment.

"I call them 'rune societies', although a better term would be 'magic camp', despite that sounding a bit disparaging. While technically I'm a squib, I'm also considered a magician; that is, someone who is able to manipulate magic. The difference between a wizard and a magician, overseas at any rate, are that wizards can inherently generate their own magic, whereas magicians have to rely on ambient magic. Let's talk a bit about that.

"Since you're all wizards, you'll have an inherent advantage over me: the ability to use runes at _any_ time, using your own generated magic. It's different for me, being non-magical. I have special devices," he pointed to his gloves, his arm sleeves, and his belt, "that hold magical charges so I can do the same, but they're a bit like Muggle batteries, in that they have a limit and they need to be recharged every so often. (No, keep your hands down, you don't need to know what Muggle batteries are.) Without them I'd have to rely on my physical strength, although I'm a pretty good hand-to-hand fighter, so don't try to take these things away from me or I will literally kick your butt. They're pretty much indestructible via magical means, though. The point is, I have to rely on all this stuff, whereas by the time you graduate you'll be able to do a bit of Applied Runes without relying on these things. There's also the bigger difference of you being able to perform spells with a wand, whereas I have to rely on runes. But that's a story and demonstration for another time.

"Now that my long-winded spiel is over, anybody have any questions?"

* * *

He repeated his speech verbatim for each and every one of his classes. A few of his students thought up interesting questions, but there were a bunch of people who glared at him distrustfully, muttering about the unfairness and/or uselessness of being taught by a Squib. Henry received a lot of 'volunteer test subjects' as a result.

Then, of course, there was his fifth-year class.

"What are you going to be teaching us, exactly? How long have you been studying this? Are you going to follow Professor Babbling's lesson plan? Is this going to help our OWLs and NEWTs? Have you even _taken_ your NEWTs? I read in _Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms_ that there were only a few kinds of runes, you know, and they had nothing about Oriental runes. How did you even get the job on such short notice? Why didn't the school inform us that our class was going to change? What will this mean for our grades?"

Henry listened to her rambling questions with one ear, idly wondering what kind of lungs the kid had to pull off a sentence like that without taking a breath. Then he realized that train of thought was rather hypocritical, so he decided to try to think of nothing. He didn't do so well.

When the girl finished speaking, Henry raised an eyebrow. "I'm assuming that, since you just rolled through your questions without waiting for me to respond, you didn't actually _want_ any answers and just wanted to hear your own voice. That's fine, but please do that in your own time. Moving on."

When the girl moved to open her mouth, Henry added, "Also, that'll be five points from Gryffindor for wasting my time." She shut her mouth and glared at him. He smiled innocently back.

He heard sniggering in the corner of the room and spotted a familiar mop of blonde hair. "Is something funny, Ms. Greengrass?"

Daphne was going to respond with her usual snark, but then she looked at Henry's face. His eyes were cold, hard, and menacing, despite the obvious smile on his face. She gulped minutely, unnoticeable to anyone but Henry. "Um, nothing, sir."

The people around her started whispering, so Henry pointed out one of them. "You, with the black hair. What are you doing." It wasn't a question.

"'Um, nothing, sir,'" the girl replied snootily, obviously mocking his sister's answer. Henry raised his eyebrow.

"Five points from Slytherin." When the girl made to object, Henry interrupted her. "Did you know that I've already taken upwards of fifty points from Slytherin today? I'm completely willing to take more."

"You can't _do_ that! You're nothing more than a Squib!"

Henry's arms twitched and his arm bands started to glow. "Is that so?" he said innocently, despite the obvious hardening of his eyes. "I suppose you're correct. Then again," he bent towards his desk and traced runes over the top. Fireworks started shooting from the top of the desk, exploding in a miasma of noise and flickering lights. The students recoiled in shock and surprise.

"Also," Henry continued innocently, as if his desk didn't just shoot fireworks from out of nowhere. "Thanks for volunteering to be the test subject for the next two weeks or so. I really appreciate it."

"That...that was just a _trick!_ Squibs like you can't do magic!" one foolhardy girl said.

Henry stared at her, all amusement gone from his face. "Detention tonight, and twenty points from Ravenclaw." She immediately protested, of course, but Henry completely ignored her.

"The next time someone decides to foolishly insult _my life's work_," he said in a near-growl, "I will take more than points from them. I'm only letting you off this once, _girl,_ because you were unaware of just how seriously I take my subject, but do it again and I will use all of my substantial power to fail you out of the course."

Amid gasps, Henry looked at all of the students in turn. "This class is more than a theoretical course designed to help you pass your OWLs and then allow you to completely forget about it afterwards. This class is the introduction to the origins of magic itself, and will allow you to gain a deeper understanding of magic. Your magic, and the magic of other beings, and magic in general. _If you choose to let it._ If you want to dismiss everything I say as useless, then you will fail this course. If you want to treat this course with mockery and scorn, then you will fail this course. If you are going to treat me with contempt because I'm 'nothing more than a Squib', _you will fail this course._

"This class has the potential to _change your life._ It can be either the _most important class_ in Hogwarts, or the most pointless, and it all depends on your attitude and your choices. Take it seriously, and you will be rewarded with more knowledge than you can currently imagine. Slack off and you will learn _nothing_. You will get a grade of _nothing._ _You will be __**nothing.**_"

Henry noticed that his students were now looking at him in awe and not a little bit of fear. "But, yeah, it's kind of just a trick." He grinned at the girl he gave detention to, who looked faintly vindicated but mostly terrified. "I'll talk about the trick to it later in the year. By the way, I changed my mind about the detention, but the point deduction stands."

"Will we learn to do that?" the question-firing girl from earlier asked, as she fired her hand up in the air. Henry grinned wider as he noticed that she only asked one question. _Good, some people can learn._

"Probably not. It's a lot more difficult to apply runes to thin air, and that's way more advanced than what I'm supposed to be teaching. But I'm sure some of you can figure it out by the time you graduate." Then he tilted his head. "But, um, you don't have to raise your hand."

* * *

All in all, Henry thought it was a rather positive day. He was mildly thankful that his father gave him oration lessons every so often, but he was still irritated that they were necessary. _On the plus side, I'm still the heir, so it wasn't utterly useless._

Striding to the Great Hall, he noticed a group of Slytherins walking towards him angrily, some of whom were chosen to be his volunteers, so he knelt down and pulled a stack of parchment out of his pocket. As they stopped in front of him, as if making a human wall, Henry activated the pre-selected runes on the parchment. Steam flowed out of the stack, turning it into a cloud; Henry jumped on the cloud and it flew towards the Great Hall, faster than he expected. He idly heard more gasps of outrage or anger or something but focused on steering the damn thing.

Upon his arrival at the Great Hall, he hovered above his seat for a few seconds, then released the cloud. Parchment fluttered harmlessly onto the desk as he landed haphazardly onto his seat.

"I, uh, I didn't do it," he said dazedly as he straightened himself out, noticing that everyone was staring at him. "That was, um, yes. Experiment. Yes," he coughed, shifting in embarrassment. He cleared his throat. "Cheers," he tipped his cup to Dumbledore, then drank his water.

"What in the world...?" asked Professor McGonagall, wide-eyed. Henry continued drinking and pretending to be oblivious to the comments of the other professors.

"That was certainly...interesting," remarked Dumbledore. Henry placed his glass down.

"Interesting. Yes." Henry looked shifty. "Not the word I'd use, but...interesting. Yes."

"How in the world did you do that?" Dumbledore asked, looking intrigued and not in the least bit concerned. "That must have been done by rune work, but that seems more advanced than even I could do."

"Well," Henry pulled out parchment. "I wanted to test if it was possible to stack multiple runes onto something as thick as parchment and have them interact properly. To make a long story short, _yes I can._" He shrugged and stared at the surprised smattering of students. "And you can do this too if you study Applied Runes for a few years!" He laughed. "Haha, shameless self-promotion. Join my class."

* * *

And the weeks flew by.


	3. Some Sort Of Stick Envy

**Chapter Three: Some Sort Of Stick Envy**

Henry picked up another student's essay. _The worst part about this job is the grading,_ he mused. Throwing the clock another glance, he mentally sighed and read through the essay. _I really should have thought about this before taking this job._ At a glance, it was mostly wrong, but Henry saw through the terrible essay-writing skills of this particular student, and noticed that she did, at least, understand some of the theory. _That much, at least, is better than some of my other students._

After that display in the Great Hall, word-of-mouth spread ridiculously fast in the halls of the castle, and Henry gained a solid chunk of new students. Unfortunately, most of them considered it a "cool" class and failed to take into account that the course was actually really intense. Their classwork was _abysmal_ at best, and they rarely, if ever, actually paid attention in class.

Henry chose to emulate his own teachers, so Henry had stringent rules in place. Many, _many_ of the students chose to disregard them, and were likewise surprised that Henry chose to give out point deductions and detentions like candy.

Henry didn't like doing detentions because that meant he had less free time to study. What people tended to ignore was that runes were very personally important to Henry, as they were his only grasp of magic in a magic-less world.

_Wait a minute,_ he jumped up after finishing grading his papers. _Isn't there a Squib in the castle?_ He knew, more than most, the pain of being the only person in any given room without the free use of magic. _A man who, for most of his life, has been surrounded by magic, yet unable to grasp it. Someone who has to listen to the constant whining of wizards and witches that take their magic for granted, and had wallowed in jealousy and envy for decades._

_That sounds like what I could've been._

With that comforting thought, he put his blazer on and strode out of his room, intent on finding one Argus Filch.

* * *

He found one Argus Filch lurking in the corridors, muttering to himself. _What a pleasant demeanor,_ he idly noted.

"What? Who's there?" Filch seemed irritated. Henry tried to make himself known in as peaceful a manner as he could, but Filch's cat jumped out of his hands and hissed at Henry, who jumped.

"**GAH!**" Henry shouted in fear. "WHY? **CAT!** WHY, _HOW,_ **WHAT!**" Henry realized that it was probably a horrible time for his ailurophobia to kick in as he sprinted away.

_I suppose I'll have to try again some other time,_ Henry thought idly after he regained his breath.

* * *

"Hello, Argus," he finally managed to greet Filch as he looked anywhere but the cat in his arms.

"You, you're that new professor, aren't you?" Filch looked suspicious. "The new Squib one, what's his name..."

"Henry. Professor Henry Greengrass," Henry introduced himself. "I'd offer to shake your hand but you're holding a cat."

"Ah, what? Hold on a sec, I'll just put her down."

"Wait, no, it's really not necessary..."

"Here ya go, dearie, you can get down now." Filch let his cat out of his arms.

"WHAT **NO** PLEASE OH GOD _GET IT AWAY FROM ME!_" Henry screamed as he ran off again. Mrs. Norris turned away from the screaming professor to stare at her owner, cocking her head in apparent confusion.

Filch scratched his head. "Well, some people just ain't cat people," he shrugged.

* * *

_Third time's the charm,_ Henry thought angrily. _Third time had_ better _be the charm._

"Hello again, Argus," he greeted Filch once again, who eyed him warily.

"You're not a cat person, are you?"

Henry laughed. "Very much not so! I'm terrified of cats."

"Really?" Filch looked dubious. "How? Cats are adorable. Why, just look at Mrs. Norris," he pet the cat in his arms.

"I can't explain it," Henry admitted honestly. "It's really the thought of touching a cat that gets me, but I just, eurgh, can't stand cats," he finished with a shiver.

After a pause, Filch snorted. "You're weird."

Henry grinned. "Very much so."

"You know you're wearing gloves, right?" Filch pointed out.

Henry looked at his hands. "So I am. It does actually help." He chuckled. "My reactions are usually much worse."

Filch sighed. "What do you want from me, boy?"

Henry reached into his pocket for a stick covered in runes. "I wanted to test something. Give this a wave, please."

Filch grabbed the stick. "It looks like a wand. You know I'm a Squib, right?"

Henry grinned. "So am I. Give it a wave, please."

Filch shook it a bit and threw it on the ground with a yelp. Mrs. Norris jumped out of his hands again.

"What just happened?"

"The ruddy thing burned me!" Filch scowled. "Was it supposed to do that? Because - wait, where did you...?"

Filch looked to his left and saw that Henry was no longer there. So he turned to his right.

Henry was perched precariously on a suit of armor, holding on for dear life.

"That's it? Just hot? Well, that's good. Probably great, even," Henry said while staring terrified at Mrs. Norris. She lifted her paw and Henry flinched.

Filch decided to give him a bit of mercy and picked up his cat. "Well, what does it mean?"

"It means," Henry decided, jumping off of the suit of armor. "It means I can probably give you some of my stuff." He picked up the stick and examined it. "Might end up making some sort of cleaning equipment for you." He flicked the stick and some of the runes started to glow. "That's weird. I'll have to examine this more."

Filch looked startled but pleased. "So I can do those magic tricks you do?"

"Eventually, yes," Henry acquiesced. "But it takes a long time to learn how to do them yourself, and they're only tricks, in the end." He sighed and frowned. "For people like you and me, that's probably the best we can get."

"You can make me magic things? So I can do spells and such?" Filch stared at him hopefully. "I've been here for roughly two decades. Tricks are more than enough."

Henry stared at him blankly, then broke out into a genuine smile. "I suppose you're right." He turned thoughtful and walked towards his room. "Expect something for Christmas, Argus."

* * *

As soon as he got comfortable at his desk, Henry pulled out the stick Filch waved days before. He stared at the rune-covered stick in contemplation. Frowning in consternation, he scribbled some equations down on paper.

Argus Filch, according to the runes, was more than capable of performing the magic tricks that Henry could do. Filch had an unusually high amount of magical residue on his body, causing him to be more attuned to the feel of magic than many other magicians that Henry had ever met. _Given enough time, he could even be better than me._

Because of his constant presence in a highly-magical area, Filch had adapted his body subconsciously to feel out the magic in certain areas; a phenomenon so incredibly rare, that the only other person Henry knew of that had that ability was his partner and best friend. Henry realized that he had to teach the man how to utilize that ability consciously. He prepared a note to his friend.

Heading over to the Owlery, Henry paused and listened to the wall. _What is that noise?_

"...we can't get caught by anyone! Especially not Filch, he'll get us into so much trouble!"

"Hello, children!" Henry smiled. "Might I inquire politely as to what sort of eccentricity you are performing here?" He tilted his head. "Perhaps some sort of odyssey into Nyx's domain?"

The (what he assumed to be) third-year kids looked at each other. "What?"

Henry's smile dropped. "What are you doing, so late at night?"

"Well, um, we..."

"You know the rules, kids. Fifty points from each of you."

"You can't do that to us!" one of the three kids shouted, offended for some reason. Henry idly realized that fifty points was kind of a lot, but then got over it.

"Sure I can," Henry said, slightly dumbfounded. "I'm a _professor._"

"No you're not!" he shouted. "You're a Squib! You probably lied your way to your post! You're not even a good Professor!"

"Wow." Henry stared at the kid, mildly hurt. "You haven't even taken my class and you have such a low opinion of me."

"I'm not going to take a class from some stupid Squib," the kid ranted, and Henry stared at him in complete amusement. He stared at one of the other kids, a girl, and quirked an eyebrow. _Is he serious?_ His message seemed to have gotten through to her, as she shook her head despondently. Or, at least, Henry assumed she was despondent. It was rather hard to tell, this late at night. The kid continued ranting, so Henry cut him off.

"I'm neither confirming nor denying those statements," Henry said, before leaning towards the kid. "But I'm also a Greengrass, and the heir incumbent, to boot. What are you going to do about it?"

The kids recoiled, but the idiot boy bravely pushed on. "You're lying! The ancient and noble house of Greengrass wouldn't lower themselves to-"

"Really?" The girl's eyes were sparkling. "So you really are related to Astoria?"

"Um, yes." Henry blinked at the non-sequitir. "I'm her older brother."

"Prove it!" that idiot boy shouted. Henry heard a movement in the corner of the hallway, but chose to ignore it. "Astoria is our friend and..." He fell silent.

"If she's your friend, why isn't she here with you?"

"She's under suspicion for being related to a Squib," another boy replied coolly. "The House is merely ignoring her for the moment, but it may eventually turn into hostilities." The boy was remarkably eloquent, Henry idly thought.

"That's stupid," Henry said bluntly, ignoring the surprise of the children. "You can't choose your family, much like you can't choose the House you're Sorted to. And so what if Astoria is related to me? I'm the _heir_, chosen by the current head himself. She doesn't really have a choice."

"You obviously tricked the head, then," the insufferable boy continued, but Henry noticed that his anger was waning.

"Um, no." Henry blinked again. "How would I do that? You _just_ said I was a Squib." He raised an eyebrow. "Or am I suddenly somehow capable of tricking a wizard with my Squib powers? Because, I mean, it's one or the other."

The insufferable boy stopped looking angry, and the girl spoke again. "You really _are_ Astoria's brother," she looked at him in awe. "Astoria talks exactly like you."

Henry laughed. "Oh, man, I am _so_ rubbing that in her face next time I talk to her." Then he frowned. "Wait. You're her friends?"

"Um...yes?"

"Why are you not over there consoling her?" Henry asked, completely blasé. "I'm pretty sure she doesn't exactly like being alone like Daphne does. If anything, you should be spending your time being friends with her instead of whatever you're doing here."

"We're here because we're trying to help her!" the girl insisted. "We're going to convince Professor Snape to help her."

Henry winced. "Ouch. Seems like you don't really like her." The kids looked at each other, confused and angry, and Henry explained. "You're over here plotting something that may or may not get you in more trouble, and meanwhile, my sister is probably feeling the acute pangs of loneliness. You should be supporting her directly, but instead you're over here not...really doing anything productive."

"But-" the girl started to interject, but Henry continued.

"To make matters worse, other people are tormenting her, and you're over here leaving her to fend for herself." Henry frowned.

"It's not like we can openly support her," the angry boy said, oddly subdued. Henry raised an eyebrow.

"Then don't." The kids looked at each other again. Henry merely tilted his head back. "You're Slytherins. Do something cunning, not this...ridiculously brash behavior that would merely make the other snakes dislike you even more. Do something else, like..." He tilted his head in another direction. "Support her from the shadows. That's what Slytherins should do, after all." Henry grinned suddenly. "And this whole 'being harassed by other Slytherins' is entirely silly. I'm going to talk to Severus later, anyway, to discuss my sisters. So there was really no reason for you to be out here."

The kids looked more excited, and as they were discussing their new plans _in plain sight_, Henry coughed, causing them to look at him. "Um. You should plan in more hidden spots, and always be on the lookout, I guess? I mean, you'll never know who's listening to you." He pointed to the direction of the corner of the hallway. "For instance, someone could be over there, listening to you, getting information on whatever you're trying to do, and then could make counter-plans to make sure they all backfire. Not...not really a good idea here." He scratched the back of his head, then relaxed. "Ah, well, anyway, fifty points each for helping a friend." The kids all beamed, and Henry groaned. "I still hate you all," he muttered, but the kids simply smiled more at him. "Bah, get _out_ of here, you brats." They scampered away excitedly.

As soon as they were out of sight, Henry called out, "Hello, Argus."

Filch rounded the corner, Mrs. Norris in hand, as he gazed skeptically upon the smiling, but still nervous, visage of the only other Squib in Hogwarts. "Who were you talking to?"

"You know who I was talking to," Henry retorted. "I'm not stupid, I heard you over there." Filch looked sheepish.

"Ah, you got me." Filch then shot an accusing glare at him. "That was _some_ advice you gave them. 'Plan in hidden spots'? Are you trying to make my job harder for me?" d "What? No!" Henry looked offended. "I'm not trying to do anything like that! Besides, you guys know everything there is to know about the castle."

Filch merely hummed. "You know, Dolores came up to me the other day and said something similar to that." Henry's face blanked. "I thought so. You don't like her, do you?"

"To be fair, she started it," Henry retorted, but he was entirely expressionless. Filch wondered how deeply his hatred ran. "There is the small little problem that she almost certainly detests me, through no fault of my own, but besides that, the laws she passes as the Senior Undersecretary are geared towards the suppression of other magical beings. Anyone who willingly supports the slavery of any other sentient creature, whether it be Being or not, is someone who should be treated with disgust, not worship." Then the life came back to his eyes, and Henry sheepishly scratched the back of his head. "Um, sorry about that. I don't really like her."

"Yes, I gathered that," Filch replied blandly.

"Not going to go after them?" Henry asked.

"Bah, I couldn't catch them, anyway. I'm far too old," Filch said, grinning. Or at least Henry _assumed_ it was a grin.

Henry blinked. "Did you just make a joke?"

Filch cackled. "You'll never know, boy!"

As Filch walked away, Henry shook off his shock and chased after him. "Wait, Argus! Was that a joke? I swear you just made a joke! You _never_ joke!"

After hearing Filch's parting call ("You just haven't seen me joke before!") Henry shook his head. Filch seemed a lot more happy whenever he was around, Henry thought, and he made a mental note to try to keep in contact with him.

* * *

Later that night, before going to bed, Henry looked into his coat pocket and found the letter he forgot to send. He groaned. "Fine, I'll do it tomorrow."


	4. Magic

**Author's Note:** As a future warning, I really like beating up Astoria. I don't know why. The weirdest part is that it's only her that I like beating up, and it happens in every Harry Potter story I write. I may only have one up right now but I have like four I'm trying to write the first chapter of, and they all inevitably have Astoria in some sort of injured manner.

Of course, one of them is an Astoria that is basically Asura's Wrath mixed with Broly from Dragon Ball Z, with a touch of Solid Snake from Metal Gear Solid. Basically an Angry Marine. So maybe it's not _all_ bad.

Also, fair warning: I get _wordy._ I was going to actually further the plot more in this chapter, but it'll have to wait.

* * *

**Chapter Four: Magic**

After finally getting around to sending that letter three days later, Henry strolled down to his classroom and prepared for his first class of the day. Or he would have, had the entire room not been covered in vandalism. Messages, most of them disturbing, violent, or some mixture of the two, covered the walls and desks. On the board was the word "SQUIB" written in all capitals, and the golden text was pulsing and writhing like worms. The lights were somehow not working properly, with them flashing and flickering intermittently. He decided to leave it up there regardless and went to his desk, placing his bags under the desk.

As the first of his class came in, he took the time to adjust his arm sleeves and gloves.

"Professor, what is this?" one student meekly asked. Henry couldn't really tell who it was thanks to the lights flickering on and off.

"Some messages. Not to worry, class, it was like this when I got here and it'll be gone by the end of the class," Henry assured them. "I think." The students looked suitably unimpressed.

"Do you need help removing them?" one girl asked as the lights flickered back on. Henry shook his head.

"Like I said, I can take care of it. Here's a challenge, though, and it's a simple one: decontaminate your own desks. Go on, then," Henry urged as nobody moved. He then pulled out a pair of customized omnioculars and placed them over his eyes.

"Um…how do we do that?" one girl asked, as Henry flicked through another option on his omnioculars.

He grinned and replied, "Any way necessary, as long as it doesn't destroy the school's equipment. Extra credit will be given to those who succeed. Go for it!"

There was a knock on the door, and as the fifth-years tried to undo the contamination, Henry asked the nearest student to open the door. Filch appeared, stopping at the blatant amount of vandalism in the room.

"Ah, do you need help here, Professor?" he asked, shifting his eyes distrustfully towards the students.

"What did I tell you, Filch? Just 'Henry' is fine, thanks. Also," he tilted his head towards the board. "Did _you_ know I'm a Squib? Because I had _no idea._" He gestured to the board as more students pooled into the class. "Whoever wrote this is kind enough to let me know! People who just walked in: extra credit if you can decontaminate your own desk."

"Are you _sure_ you don't need help getting rid of all of this?" Filch asked again. Henry rolled his eyes.

"Yes, completely. This isn't even _good_ spellwork, it's easy to break." Henry grinned. "You might want to pull up a chair, though. You might find this interesting!"

Once every student was in the room, and half of the chairs were decontaminated, Henry grinned again and tapped his desk with the wristband of his glove. The entire room lit up in glowing blue runic arrays, more advanced than any student had ever seen before, and the remaining vandalism slowly disappeared. The lights finally turned back on.

"Today," Henry continued, as if he didn't just dispel a room's worth of advanced charms work, "we will be talking about runic arrays. Specifically, the very basics of how to layer runes into arrays. But first, who can tell me how magic works?" At the lack of raised hands, even by the bushy-haired girl, Henry arched an eyebrow. "Really? Nobody?

"Well, then, let me go over the basics of _that_, first. I've heard people in the United States talk about 'magical cores' and 'magical power'; I can tell you right now that they are a myth. Besides which, you should never listen to an American; they are usually wrong. And obsessed with violence. Anyway, the actual _substance_ of magic is based on what science calls 'quantum mechanics'. That is something you don't really need to know about, except this: the building blocks of nature are atoms, and atoms are made up of particles, and these particles' movements affect each other, and down the line they make literally everything you see here." He stretched his arms and waved them around himself. "That's basically what you need to know about quantum mechanics; here's something about magic. Magic, too, is affected by these particles. Not the atoms that particles make up, as that would imply that magic has mass, which is absurd, but the particles of the particles are what magic affects and is affected by. I'm losing you guys, sorry, I'll try to explain how this is relevant.

"There's a scientific theory called string theory, which postulates that every little particle is eventually made up of ridiculously infinitesimal 'strings'. The phenomena is not exactly how magic works, but it is surprisingly close; magic is made up of, instead of something physical like a string, the 'imaginary' force of probability. Magic is, in essence, probabilities," he paused for a moment and then decided to write everything down on the board. "These 'probabilities' are found in, literally, everything. From light, to sound, to the visible and the tangible, even to things like memory and imagination: _everything is magic._ The thing about wizards are that, due to some quirk of particles, they generate what is known as a 'magical field', and can affect these 'magic' particles thanks to this magical field.

"I said a few classes ago that 'wizards can generate their own magical fields, and squibs and Muggles can't.' Okay, maybe I didn't say it like that, but that's kind of what I meant to say, and that was wrong, anyway, because if we didn't have our own magical fields, spells wouldn't affect us, which obviously doesn't actually happen. Nearly every person on the planet, Muggle or not, has a magical field. The exceptions are incredibly isolationist, and even these exceptions are dwindling in number. Squibs, as you refer to them, are people, born to people that manipulate magical fields, who can not; this doesn't mean we don't have one, we simply _can't manipulate ours._" Henry stared at the listeners through his omnioculars, and continued. "Now, here's the biggest kicker, and the reason this isn't well-known in England: genetics, that is, blood status and family bonds, do _nothing_ to the magical field. In truth, everybody has the same 'magical power' because magical fields are _always the same._ But, yes, some are more attuned to theirs than others; this can apparently be achieved by practice, but I wouldn't know." He shrugged. "I can't manipulate mine, you see, so I can't check." Then he continued with his lecture. "And when one is exposed to a magical field often enough, they learn to attune themselves to their own magical field; this is how 90% of wizards and witches in the world come about. This is the biggest reason a wand is so important: it helps you attune yourself to your magical field, more than you would otherwise. This is also why spells work the way they do.

"Probabilities are inherently orderly, though." He winced as the chalk in his hand broke. "So it's reasonably simple for scientists to understand, via controlled tests, how magic works the way it does, and we can thus consider the concept of magic to be 'scientifically understood'. Let's pretend magic is sentient for a minute. How would it _know_ to change a matchstick into a needle? After all, it doesn't actually know what a needle _is_. And if it _did_ know what a needle was, then why couldn't it just spontaneously transform it itself? In reality, and not that silly 'sentient-magic' fiction we were pretending, the answer is simple: _the intent of the user,_ which, in magician's lingo, is referred to as 'generation' due to…a mistranslation somewhere down the line, I think. Magic, despite being chaotic in nature, is very easy to control for those attuned to their magical fields. You may have heard that spells are divided up in three parts: the intent, the wandwork, and the vocalized word. This is for a reason: the intent controls the magical field, the wandwork manipulates the field, and the word confirms the field's direction.

"Now, although this generalization is _mostly_ correct, this obviously doesn't always hold true, since wandless and wordless and wordless wandless magic are clearly possible. This is because, in actuality, _none of the above are necessary._ Which sounds absurd, right? It does! But it's true." Henry smiled. "I know this because, despite everything I just said, I can manipulate magic. I can't do it with a wand, or with intent, but I can use runes to simulate intent, wandwork and the vocalized word. Science has broken down the bare essentials of magic to be the existence of a 'magical field'…and that's it. That's all that's necessary. This is, in principle, how both runes and potions operate. Now, me saying I can manipulate magic…isn't true, because technically speaking, it's the _runes_ that are manipulating the magic, even if they aren't sentient, and I still can't manipulate my magical field by myself, so I'm still considered a Squib, even if I'm technically a magician. Now, we can talk about runes."

Henry took a break from talking by swigging some water from his drinking bottle. Ignoring the glazed eyes of the portion of his class he had absolutely no hope for, he noticed that there were still a solid amount of people still interested in the lecture. Henry was oddly pleased by this, so he finished drinking and continued speaking.

"Runes are a physical manifestation of magic. Even if magic itself isn't physical by its very nature, runes are a way to manipulate magic through the written word. Ancient wizards used what is considered in the Muggle world to be 'cuneiform'. Nowadays, what we consider Ancient Runes is what the Muggles consider to be 'Elder Futhark', although there are more differences than similarities between Ancient Runes and actual Futhark. The runic word itself doesn't mean anything unless it is charged by a magical field, in which case it takes on the properties of the individual runes making up the word. This aspect of runes, the individual rune work, will be leading up to what I expect all of you, as fifth-years, to be able to do: runic arrays. You will be able to write multiple runes that, despite all semblance of logic, can and will change and manipulate the environment around you, which is exactly what magic _does._

"I kind of just rambled there, but let's summarize up today's lecture." Henry grinned. "Magic? It's like a giant invisible balloon over literally everything. Runes are basically depictions of physical magic. Any questions?"

The bushy-haired girl with the questions raised her hand, then put it back down sheepishly (Henry nodded in approval) and asked, "But…how would I have magic? I'm Muggleborn, so I've never been exposed to magic before Hogwarts."

"Ah, that's part of the 10% of wizards and witches in the world. Rarely, a person attunes themselves to their magical field sporadically; this is where what you'd call 'Muggleborns' come from." Henry winked. "Congratulations, you're a rare phenomenon. Incidentally, so am I; Squibs are rarer than Muggleborns, because of the mere fact that Filch and I _cannot_ manipulate ours." Henry shrugged. "I couldn't tell you why not, I have scientist friends who also can't explain it, but that's what the runes are for. But sometimes, very rarely, even more rarely than the appearance of Squibs and Muggleborns, a perfectly average Muggle does accidental magic. But it's not as widely acknowledged, because Muggles then simply call it a miracle. Next question?"

A boy asked, "If intent is the only thing necessary for manipulating magic, then how does the magic recognize intent? Since the brain is also affected by magic, right?"

Henry shrugged. "I know that there have been papers written about it but I can't understand any of them," he sheepishly admitted. "It has something to do with recursion, but I can't say anything in more detail, because I honestly don't know. I'll look it up and let you all know as soon as I can. Next question."

Another girl raised her hand. "Wouldn't you technically be able to…'generate' your own magical field? Even though you're a Squib?"

Henry shook his head. "I can't feel my field, so I can't attune to it. This is supported by rigorous testing: after the age of eighteen, it is statistically impossible for an average person to become attuned to their magical field. This isn't _literally impossible_, per se, but it's very, very unlikely, to the point where it's just much, much easier to say that it's impossible. The optimal age to attune your magical fields, by the way, is eleven; that's when it stops growing and when your body is most susceptible to it. That's why Hogwarts starts at eleven. Although, in reality, everyone has a chance to become attuned to, or 'generate', their magical fields until they hit sixteen; then the difficulty curve sharply increases, to the point where it's next-to-impossible for a person of eighteen years of age. Next question."

The bushy-haired girl from before shot her hand up again but talked anyway. Henry stifled a grin. "What do you mean, 'feel a field'? You can't actually _feel_ magic, that's _absurd!_"

Henry turned skeptical. "Really? You've never felt a slight tingling when you're around magic?" At some students' fervent head-shaking, he shrugged. "It's probably subconscious for you at this point, but back when you were first around magic, you probably did feel _something_. I mean, it's entirely possible to feel magic as an adult, because Professor Flitwick did it all the time when he dueled. Apparently, from what we can understand, babies can calm down when their parents come around thanks to the magical field. The parents generally have a more stable field regardless of being Muggle or not, since that's determined by age alone, but the parents' intent is usually to calm the baby. That, even in Muggles, is usually enough for the magical field to be manipulated enough to calm the baby. But remember, Muggles generally can't manipulate magic, even with intent, so the magical field actually doesn't get manipulated. So, skipping ahead a few more explanations and experiments, we know that the mere presence of a magical field is enough. And as a result, we know that babies somehow can feel magical fields, although the feeling dulls as we age." Henry then grimaced. "And thanks to my parents, I can't feel it at all, and never really could. But let's not talk about that. Next question."

The questions kept coming, and Henry was rather pleased about the intelligence of most of the questions, even if he couldn't answer all of them. _No wonder my Sensei enjoyed teaching so much,_ Henry mused. _Children are_ inquisitive. _It's kind of fun._ A timer buzzed on his desk, and Henry glanced at it.

"All right, class is over. Your homework is to read pages eighty-two through ninety-five and answer this one question as thoroughly as you can: with your newfound knowledge of magic and the runic word, explain how you would change the runes in the, I believe it is the third, example in your textbook so it poisons instead of filters water." He smiled as the class got up to leave. "Due next class!"

* * *

Astoria winced as she hobbled to the Great Hall. At first, it seemed like her friends deserted her, but then they came back and 'secretly started supporting her in the shadows', as one of them explained. Astoria didn't care as much as she would have if she were truly alone, but they were still a bit late in the support. She noticed the Slytherin table had a certain professor sitting there, so she walked up to him.

"Tori!" Henry stood up and gave her a big hug, ignoring her wince. "How's my favorite little witch?"

"She's the only witch you like, so that's not a hard question," Daphne said, in a quiet, monotone voice.

"That's not true!" Henry insisted, before gesturing to Daphne. "I like you, too!"

A pause, and then, simultaneously:

"No, you don't," Astoria said, bluntly.

"No, you don't," Daphne said, bewildered.

"No, I don't," Henry said, despondently.

Astoria grinned and Daphne had a little smile on her face. Henry dramatically moped around a bit, and then snickered.

"What are _you_ doing here?" a boy suddenly asked. Astoria winced again in phantom pain. Henry stopped laughing, his face blanking, as he watched Astoria wince, before he donned a confused look and stared at the boy, who was almost glaring at Astoria. But, surprisingly, it was Daphne who spoke.

"She is my family. Is there a problem with that?" Daphne asked, in a soft but menacing manner. Henry had heard voices more menacing than that before, and so wasn't entirely concerned, but Astoria was unused to the sheer _hatred_ in the subtleties of her voice.

The boy seemed completely oblivious as he sneered. "You're consorting with a blood traitor and a Squib. Of _course_ I have a problem with that."

"I'm _not_ a blood traitor," Astoria shouted, causing more Slytherins to turn to face the conversation. "He's my _brother!_ _And_ a professor!"

The boy sneered. "Filthy excuses for a filthy blood traitor like you."

Astoria seethed angrily. Pretty much everyone at the Slytherin table, and a few Hufflepuffs, were staring at them now. Henry noted, mildly horrified, that there were a few who were looking at the boy with approval.

The boy ignored her and looked at Henry. "Well, Squib? Have anything to say about you sullying our noble house?"

"Why is the motif a snake?" Henry asked suddenly, and everyone in earshot blinked at the non-sequitir. "I mean, they're not normally known for their cunning, they're known for being lying and sneaky with absolutely no concern for who they kill, and also for being the servants of demonic entities, but not _cunning_. _Foxes_ are cunning, and foxes _eat_ snakes. So they automatically have a bad reputation, which isn't good for popularity purposes." He tilted his head in confusion, ignoring the stifled exclamations of shock around him. "Is it one of those size envy things?" Some of the Hufflepuffs a table over choked at that comment. "Because that would make _so much sense._ It would certainly explain the ambition aspect, anyway. And, I mean, 'green with envy'. It makes sense." He nodded firmly and shoveled food into his mouth.

Neither Daphne nor Astoria could respond to this, as Daphne's face met the table multiple times, and Astoria was trying _really_ hard not to laugh.

"What is going on here?" Professor Snape asked, striding over to where Henry decided to sit. "Why are you not sitting with the faculty, Greengrass?"

Henry tried to answer while eating, but failed, so he shrugged instead. Snape sneered. "Do you think yourself better than us, Greengrass?"

Henry gulped his food down, and shrugged. "Yeah, a bit." At Snape's murderous look, he clarified, "Look, I'm a Squib teaching wizards how their own magic works. I'm also literally the youngest person on faculty, the only 'magician' as opposed to 'wizard', and I'm a certified genius and the only known liaison to the notably reclusive Japanese Ministry of Magic. But I'm also a _Squib_ and completely at the mercy of literally any wizard in this castle, once they know how I fight. So, yeah, excuse me if I think I'm a bit better than you; it's a defense mechanism for me, at this point."

The murderous look didn't abate. Henry shrugged and went back to his meal, completely missing the fact that a lot of the other Slytherins were also outright glaring at him.

Astoria shifted her eyes to her friends, who noticeably were _not_ glaring, and gained a bit of confidence in their reassuring looks. Then she leaned towards her brother. "Um…you know everyone's staring at you, right?"

Henry looked up from his food and looked around at the glares on the other Slytherins' faces, then shrugged again. "So? I'm a Professor. I do what I want."

"Doesn't seem very Greengrass to just ignore everyone that hates you," Astoria remarked, grinning.

Henry grinned back. "It actually is. We're neutral, remember? It's just not Slytherin, sure, but I never attended Hogwarts as a kid and thus don't care."

"Meanwhile, we, your _lovely_ and _beautiful_ sisters, have to suffer the agonies of listening to these guys whine about you," Astoria blithely remarked. Henry winced.

"Ouch. Yeah, that's not good. I'll see you two around, then," he replied, standing up. "Also: not lovely. More like horrible terrors that have the worst possible timing and are also really short."

"Oi!" Astoria shouted in mock-outrage. "I'm not short! You're just...freakishly tall!"

"I'm not that tall, you know," Henry said with a laugh. "You're like half my size, though."

"Wow," Daphne snarked. "Your sense of perception is messed up. You should see a Healer about that."

Henry laughed again, and waved at them as he headed towards the staff table. The glares shifted from him to the two girls, and Astoria felt her heart drop. _Oh, boy._


End file.
